His Troublesome Peculiarity
by BlueDaisy23
Summary: No matter how troublesome or how very peculiar he was, Gustave was his boy, and always would be. Erik reminisces on life with his second child, his boy. A companion piece to "His Little Oddity."


**Hello phans, I'm back once again! This story is a continuation of sorts of 'His Little Oddity', but this focuses on the son, Gustave. There will also be one more, 'His Gentle Bird', that will focus on Adalie.**

 **I hope you enjoy this as much as I did!**

* * *

He still remembered the terror he had felt when Christine told him she was with child once again. The curse of his face had not been inherited by Estelle, which could only mean this babe would bear it.

On the night of the child's birth, after the torturing sounds of Christine's screams and then the screeching of the babe, he was allowed to enter the room, and he saw his pink, screaming cherub. His son...his _perfect_ son. The relief he felt was palpable as his son had a full face, and he pressed a kiss to his angel's forehead before he cradled his little son in his arms.

"Papa's here, my boy," he announced in a soothing voice, and he hummed, slowly causing the boy's cries to stop.

He felt her small hand rest on his elbow. "And what shall we call him?"

Erik lifted his spidery finger to stroke his son's plump cheek. "Gustave," he whispered, looking away from the boy to his wife.

Tears gathered in her eyes. "After Papa?" she breathed

He gave her a soft smile and ran a hand through her sweaty curls. "He deserves to be honored and what better way than passing on his namesake?"

"Thank you, Erik," she choked out, her emotions overtaking her.

Erik gave her another kiss before looking back at his handsome son. His Gustave.

* * *

Having two children was so drastically different than having just one. It wouldn't be so terrible if his son had not taken after his daughter in the way that they both demanded attention at all times. Estelle had been content with Erik when she was a young babe, which he had been able to handle, but Gustave only wanted Christine.

He could not blame his boy; that was what he had also desired for quite some time.

He could, however, blame the boy for taking away his precious moments with his lovely wife, with whom he was still very much obsessed. Often times, he had tried to secrete her away for a few moments, whether it was to play for her, have her sing to him, or a much more enjoyable activity that shan't be named. Any time he tried to do this meant Christine would have to either set the boy down or not be in his range of sight, which then would send Gustave into a tantrum. In turn, his screams would upset his oddity of a daughter, who was usually twirling on her toes throughout the house, and she would begin to cry. The two children crying would cause Christine to cry, and Erik's quaint amount of sanity would be tested, causing him to also join in on the crying.

Erik no longer tried to sneak away with his wife.

He remembered one time he thought he had succeeded in escaping to the master bedroom with Christine when both children were down for their naps. The pair was so exhausted that Erik had dozed off while fumbling with the laces of her dress. Christine hadn't even been angry with him as she collapsed next to him, both trying to get just a trace amount of sleep. But this respite of peace didn't last long. He may have been drained, but his senses were still keen. He had heard the soft pitter-patter of his son's crawling as Gustave made his way to the closed door of his bedroom. He had forced himself out of his agonizingly comfy bed and stalked to his door, yanking it open and looking down at his son. The eight month old looked up at his father, the mirrored golden eyes calculating each other.

"Don't do it, boy," he growled. The child raised his arms up, and Erik smirked in triumph as he lifted his small son from the floor, brushing his wispy honey blond curls away from his forehead. "I'm glad we are finally starting to see eye-to-eye."

The boy looked at him before pointing to where Christine laid. "Mama."

Erik shook his head. "No, Gustave, we must let Mama sleep."

Gustave did not like this answer and his perfect face scrunched up. "Mama!" he wailed.

"I said no, Gustave!"

"Mama!"

"No!"

"MAMA!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, bring me my son, Erik!" his wife demanded, rubbing her weary brown eyes.

Erik frowned. "We cannot keep giving into him, Christine," he reasoned over the cries of his son.

She held out her arms as she answered, "He is happy in my arms, and I'm happy to have him there. Give him to me."

He grumbled but handed over the boy nevertheless, and the child immediately snuggled into his Mama's breasts. Erik slouched his way back into bed as he definitely needed the nap even more, and he caught the eyes of his little son once more.

Gustave's lips quirked up into a sneaky smirk he had seen on his father's face numerous time before closing his eyes and escaping into his dream world.

Erik gaped in astonishment at his sly son before he let out a quiet chuckle.

That boy of his was so troublesome, but it was worth moments like these.

* * *

Gustave thankfully grew out of the stage of only wanting Christine, but he still preferred her over his Papa. Again, Erik could not fault him on it because who wouldn't choose Christine over him? Well, his girl favored him, but her odd personality was justification enough for her choices.

The boy was a curious one at the ripe age of four. He loved exploring, and he loved running. His favorite time to run, in fact, was when his mother was attempting to bathe him, so often times in the Destler manor, a naked boy would be zooming through the halls. It did not help matters that his older sister encouraged him with her giggles.

Erik sniffed. Impertinent children.

However, Gustave's thirst for learning was unquenchable. His favorite question was "Why?" And he would never go to Christine with these wonderings, only him.

He remembered one day when Gustave has been particularly distraught over something. His little brows had been furrowed as he was doodling on a piece of parchment. Erik had relaxed in his armchair, waiting for his son to ask his question. "Papa?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"When are you going to die?"

Erik lifted his good eyebrow. "Not for a long while, unless you and your sister send me to my death prematurely."

Gustave sat his charcoal pencil down and ran a hand through his wild mahogany curls. They had darkened in his short lifetime to the color of his mother's own curls. "Hm... when you and Mama die, I want new parents," he stated matter-of-factly.

Erik didn't know whether he should be offended or not, but this time he was grateful his son only asked him his questions because this line of questioning would only send his poor wife into a fit of tears. "Why is that?"

"I love you and Mama, but I need new parents. I don't know to cook, and I definitely don't trust Stelle with my food," he explained, a serious look in his golden eyes.

It was silent for a moment before Erik let out a rich laugh. "You are so peculiar, my son." Gustave did not know what the word meant, but he beamed at his laughing father.

* * *

As Erik had done with Estelle, he took Gustave into the music room with him as much he could, which had been the only way he could lure his son out of his wife's arms for quite some time. Music, naturally, was in both his children's blood, and it ran deep, just like it did for him & Christine. While Estelle loved to dance with the music, Gustave would watch his father play or his mother sing with wide, learning eyes, bound to take in all he could.

Under his father's tutelage, Gustave became a fine instrumentalist by his eighth summer. However, like his namesake, he had been enchanted by the violin. He wielded this instrument so well that it often brought both parents to tears: his Mama because it reminded her of her own beloved father, and his Papa because he was amazed by the sheer talent his son possessed.

As Gustave grew older, he realized while the boy was so very peculiar in his behavior most times and that he was a irksome little trickster when Erik's back was turned, Erik knew his son was a troublesome beast when it came to his music, just as Erik himself was. He remembered all the times where he or Christine would try to pull him away from the instruments, but Gustave would pause only for a moment to glare at his parents and then would continue on until he finished to his liking, or more often than not, Erik would stalk into the music room, grab the boy by the collar of his shirt, and gently drag his son to where he was needed. Erik most certainly had to take blame for his son's singular obsession with music as he himself had gone days without food or sleep multiple times around his family so it was no surprise his son would follow in his footsteps.

He shook his head and chuckled. Troublesome boy, indeed.

* * *

He was brooding.

He could admit that to himself without feeling any loss of dignity.

He reached for the glass next to him and sipped his cognac before placing it back on the the table, and he steepled his hands. He sat back in his large black chair in his study, looking at the portrait of his family hanging above the mantle of the fireplace. He would say he was surprised that he agreed to taking the picture a few years ago, but he honestly was not as he knew that his Christine could get him to do anything she wanted.

The portrait had been taken five summers previously, just before his Estelle had wed the Arnault boy. His family was remarkably beautiful, but as was expected, he was the odd one out. He had not dared to go without his mask because why go through that experience with the photographer? However, being the boorish man he was, he had refused to wear his flesh mask and had opted for the white porcelain instead. In the picture, it was certainly staged around Christine, for which Erik had paid the photographer handsomely. She sat in a chair with little Adalie on her lap and Gustave kneeling to her left, one hand resting on hers. Erik was to Christine's right and slightly behind her, where Erik knew one hand had rested between her shoulders. Estelle was next to Erik, resting her hand on his arm. To make the picture even better, the whole family, even Erik, had smiles on their faces. The Destler family was not large on following society's rules.

Erik sighed. He missed his family all being under the same roof, and he was about to lose another child.

Gustave, no longer a boy but now a man of eighteen summers, had studied at the _Conservatoire de Paris_ for the past two years. He had remained at home while he was studying at the Conservatoire, but a new school had apparently caught his interest.

An American school.

The Institute of Musical Art had opened its doors just last year, but their success was booming. They had heard of a Gustave Destler in France, who could wheedle the violin like no other, and they had offered him admittance into their program. His son was enamored with the prospect of going to New York for schooling and had all but begged his parents to go.

Erik wished he would not have cracked so easily.

A knock interrupted his melancholy thoughts, and he turned to see his beloved wife entering the study. She gave him a soft smile as she came to perch elegantly on the arm of his chair, his pale hand reaching up to rest on the small of his back, and she stared up at the picture. "It is surreal, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "We have a daughter who is off and married with two young children of her own, and our son is moving to another country." She looked down at him with tears in her lovely brown eyes.

"Come here, my Christine," he whispered, pulling her gently down to sit in his lap. "We are getting rather old, but at least we have our young Adalie. She has promised me that she shan't leave us, so we will always have our gentle bird," he murmured, running his fingers along her spine.

She let out a tearful laugh. "Oh, just you wait until she finds a boy, my husband. Then you will be woefully heartbroken, and we will have an empty nest."

"Quiet peace after years with our strange, boisterous children will be well-received, Madame," he teased, a half-smile resting on his lips.

Before his wife could reply to him, another knock was heard. "Father?"

"Come in, Gustave," Christine called out, placing a kiss on Erik's twisted cheek and rising from her position in his lap.

"Mama, I did not know you were in here," he answered, the tall boy walking over and bestowing his own kiss upon his mother's cheek.

She brushed his curls out of his eyes and smiled prettily up at him. "I was just leaving. I'll go look over your luggage to make sure you are all set." She gracefully floated out of the room.

Erik gestured for his son to sit on the sofa to his left, still preferring to hide his face from his family as much as possible. "Have you packed everything you will need?"

The boy folded one long leg and rested his ankle on his knee. "Yes, Ada and I triple-checked, so I am set."

It was quiet for a moment between the son and father. His son had grown into quite a remarkable young man. His skin was slightly tanned from having worked outside for Erik's architectural and construction business, and he was as tall as Erik himself. His sharp features were similar to Erik's, save for the upturned nose that also graced his wife's face. His curls were as wild as ever, but trimmed shorter than usual.

"America is far different from France."

Gustave bobbed his head up and down at his father's statement. "Quite so."

Silence settled over them again.

Erik gulped, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. "You will come back to us? I do not know how your mother and I will fare constantly traveling to New York."

The boy's golden eyes were soft as he took in his father. "I will always come back to my home, to you and Mama. I swear it."

"Even if you meet and fall for a wretched American girl?"

The boy let a smirk dance on his lips, one exactly like his father's. " _Especially_ if I fall in love with a wretched American girl."

The father chuckled at his son's antics and stood from his chair, the boy following suit. Erik held out his hand for the boy to shake, and when he placed his warm hand into his icy one, he pulled his son into a tight embrace. "I'm so proud of you, my boy, my Gustave," he whispered fiercely into his son's ear.

Gustave held his father just as snug. "I love you, Papa."

Erik closed his eyes to keep the tears from slipping down his face. He did not know how he would survive sending off his boy, and leaving him alone with two women (five when his daughter visited because _of course,_ she would have two little girls and put him further at risk for a heart attack).

No matter how troublesome or how very peculiar he was, Gustave was his boy, and always would be.

* * *

 **Reviews are lovely!**

 **-AL.x**


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